


Shepard

by Dragon_Shaman



Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Aliens, Ambiguous Relationship, Angst, Bittersweet Ending, Blood and Injury, But he does care, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Healing, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Religious Themes, Rick is an emotionally constipated old man, Rick would do ANYTHING for Morty, feels everywhere, like a lot, my first fic in the R&M fandom
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-17
Updated: 2018-01-17
Packaged: 2019-03-05 23:43:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13398783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dragon_Shaman/pseuds/Dragon_Shaman
Summary: “H-hey, Rick?”“Yeah, Mo-EUGH-r-Morty?”“I-I was—I know you say there is no God, but I was just thinking…Heaven and Hell must be real somewhere.”“What-what brought that on, Morty?”“W-well, if there are infinite realities then that-that means at least one has to be Heaven and one Hell—right, Rick?”“...Don’t think about it, Morty.”





	Shepard

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is an idea that has been in my head ever since I finished binge-watching Rick and Morty, and I have finally finished the first part of it!! YAY!! *throws confetti* 
> 
> I can honestly say this is probably one of the angstiest things I have ever written, but I promise there will be some light in the end!! (Though it's up to you guys whether it makes up for all the sad ^^"")
> 
> As stated in the tags, this is my first every R&M fic so apologies for any OOC-ness--I tried to keep everyone as in-character as possible! (It is also unbeta-ed so all mistakes are my own!)
> 
> Shout out to rosemary_madness, an AMAZING writer who has been my number one supporter and encouraged me as I wrote and edited this roller-coaster of a fic!!
> 
> Comments and kudos are appreciated! ^^
> 
> Enjoy!! XD

_Rick’s entire body felt numb, save for his chest which felt hollow and empty. He was moving sluggishly, his actions slowed down to a fraction of their normal speed—or perhaps everything around him had increased in speed. As he moved through the hospital, the world seemed to change, colors and sound fading until they were nothing more than shadows and muted, incomprehensible noises. The darkness seemed to reach for him, sharpened claws on spindly fingers grasping at his ankles, running up his legs—torso—chest, until they reached his throat where they constricted until he could barely breathe, and every step forward was an exhausting battle._

_He had no idea how he made it out. He couldn’t remember anything the doctors said, or what he said back—if he even responded at all. Just faded images that flashed by too quick to follow with voices too muted to hear. Everything around him seemed to continuously pick up speed as he just seemed to slow down further and further._

_It was with a feeling like a bolt of electricity shooting through his body that he bumped into his ship, hands landing on the glass instinctually despite his sluggish movements to prevent his head from smacking the window. He hadn’t even realized he had started walking after leaving the hospital. For a moment, he just stared at his reflection without actually seeing it. Instead, he saw the same image that had plagued him for who-knows-how-many hours now: crimson corrupting pristine white; a hand reaching out, grasping; brown boring into his soul, pleading and desperate and so very trusting._

_Rick shuddered violently at the image, stomach rolling. One of his hands slid off the glass to curl around his stomach. He turned to the side, hunching over with a pained groan as his eyes slid closed and his jaw clenched. Then, with a pained gasp, he vomited—once, twice, thrice. By the fourth time, there was little but bile left. After even that was gone he dry-heaved for what felt like an agonizing eternity. Finally the dry-heaving degenerated into coughing that also eventually faded away, leaving him panting harshly as he slid to his knees and leaned wearily against the side of the ship, the cold metal soothing against his heated, sweaty skin._

_After another eternity, he slowly pulled himself up and got into the ship. He thought of starting the engine; of flying off to the most remote bar he could find and drinking until he blacked out. But his body had turned to stone, and so instead he just sat back and stared numbly at the night sky and the billions of stars spiraling cross its surface. As he sat there, numb and unmoving, a memory came to mind; one of a woman singing a song—no, a lullaby—to him, her voice soft and sweet and full of so much love. Then the voice changed to that of a young boy, tone light and joyous as he reveled in speaking another language even as he stumbled over the pronunciation of half the words. Rick had been so proud that night, hearing his mother’s tongue come out of his grandson’s smiling mouth, his delighted expression lit up by the two full moons and the stars shinning high above._

_But now—now he felt only emptiness that slowly but surely morphed into pain so intense, he thought he might actually die from it. Until now, he would have scoffed at the idea that one could actually die from a broken heart._

_A flash of pain in his hand made him double over with a hiss as he clutched his bleeding fist to his chest. He stared in shock at his split knuckles, hissing again in pain when he unclenched his hand—he was pretty sure at least one finger was broken. Confusion seeped into his mind; he had no idea how his hand had suddenly gotten hurt—until his gaze rose to the windshield and he saw the small spider web cracks spiraling out from the bloodied part of the windshield he had punched. The sight flipped a switch in him. His brow furrowed, his jaw clenching until he thought it would crack, and his fist connected with the glass again with a CRACK! Ignoring the intense pain—definitely at least one broken finger now—he pulled back and punched again and again. Then—rage building in chest, replacing the emptiness that had been there previously—he grabbed the steering wheel for support and slammed his foot into the dashboard and then the windshield as hard as he could, again and again. He shook and hit the steering wheel, punched the dashboard, kicked the door. And when that was not enough to relieve the rage, he stood with a snarl, picked up every loose item in the ship, and threw then as hard against the hull and windows as he could, adding in a few more punches and kicks for good measure. He wanted to_ kill _someone—to punch and kick and bite and tear them apart with his bare hands until they were nothing but a bloody, unrecognizable mess. With that thought at the forefront of his mind, he dug his fingers into his scalp until the skin broke and let out the scream that had been building inside him for almost a day now._

 _It was raw, primal, and filled with so much pain it shocked even himself. Nothing—_ nothing _—had hurt this much. Not the deaths of his many friends, including Bird Person, nor his failed marriage to Diane. No—this was beyond that. This was the pain of losing the only thing he truly cared about more than more than anything else. And it shattered him from the inside-out._

_Suddenly exhausted, he sunk to his knees on the floor, put his head into his bleeding, broken hands—and cried._

 

 

***

 

 

The Diamond Moon lived up to its name.

The Earth-sized satellite that orbited Stelearos—an enormous, ringed gas giant that made Jupiter look small in comparison—was literally made of pure, solid diamond. Even the bizarrely beautiful flora that covered its shining surface was made of diamond. As was the enormous Dranulus—the moon’s only fauna—that called it home.

Very little was known about Dranuli save that: there were only a handful in the entire universe; they were apparently immortal; and unlike most creatures in existence Dranuli only got stronger and healthier with age.

As well as bigger. Much, _much_ bigger. This one was so old its serpentine body covered over two-thirds of the moon’s surface. And like the rest of the moon, it was made of living, breathing diamond, allowing it to blend in seamlessly with its environment until the moment it moved.

Rick turned off the ship’s engine then slumped in his seat with a defeated sigh. He went to reach for his flask when he remembered that in his haste he had left it on the counter in Beth’s house. _Shit_. Another sigh escaped him, this one with a hint of frustration, as he ran his hand through his hair. His hand fell limp to his side as he stared out the window at nothing. He needed to get going. The ritual the High Priestess on Tesarine had performed gave him far more time than he would have had otherwise—but it would not last forever. Despite this, he couldn’t get himself to move; could do nothing besides stare, numb and unseeing, out the window at the night sky through the spider web cracks adorning its surface. Its darkness surrounded the ship like a velvet curtain, its surface painted with swirling patterns of billions of glorious stars. It was so much like the sky that had hung over him that night…

Rick shook himself mentally. He didn’t have time—he needed to get going, before it was too late. Even so, he couldn’t make himself get out of ship just yet. Instead, he found himself slowly leaning around his seat and looking behind him. He was only partially aware he was shaking as he looked at the backseat. If not for the tuft of brown, curly hair sticking out, he could have almost believed the carefully tucked blankets had just been rolled into a bundle and thrown onto the seat for the sake of an effort at tidiness. His eyes tightened in pain as his chest clenched painfully.

 _Don’t think about it_. Not until he had to.

Taking a deep breath to steel himself, he forced himself to open the door and stepped out into the light of a new dawn. For just a moment, he allowed himself to watch the sunrise. To watch as the exceptionally-bright light from the blue, O-class sun Stelearos orbited flowed across the land, causing every inch of the Diamond Moon to sparkle brilliantly. Despite the now ever-present emptiness in his heart, Rick felt his lips part and his eyes widen in amazement. He had never actually been to the Diamond Moon before; only heard tales of it. He had never even seen any photos as technology of any kind was not allowed here. (Because of this, any who wanted to go there had to first go to Stelearos then take a ride on the back of a Naril in exchange for an interesting story. Rick didn’t give a damn about such laws, having instead taken his ship directly to the moon, flipping off Stelearos as he flew by). There were paintings of the moon, but while they were admittedly beautiful they just did not come close to the real thing.

_Morty would have loved it…_

Rick scowled and pushed the thought—and the shiver of pain it caused—away, reminding himself he wasn’t here to marvel at the moon in place of his easily-impressed grandson. He was here to speak to the moon’s Dranulus. This one in particular had a number of interesting—if, in his opinion, rather far-fetched—claims and legends surrounding it. If not for the fact that these claims and legends were Morty’s only chance, he would have just rolled his eyes at them and not even bothered.  

But if they had even a shred of truth to them, he had to speak with this Dranulus—for Morty’s sake…

_“H-hey, Rick?”_

_“Yeah, Mo-EUGH-r-Morty?”_

_“I-I was—I know you say there is no God, but I was just thinking…Heaven and Hell must be real somewhere.”_

_“What-what brought that on, Morty?”_

_“W-well, if there are infinite realities then that-that means at least one has to be Heaven and one Hell—right, Rick?”_

_“...Don’t think about it, Morty.”_

 

Rick shook his head and forced himself to focus on the task at hand. He took off his shoes, socks and lab coat, then set them on his seat and walked to the edge of the cliff he had landed on. The cliff was barren save for a few tuffs of grass here and there. He was grateful; all the other cliffs near where the Dranulus was supposed to appear were covered in sparkling foliage—and there was nothing like stabbing your foot on diamond grass to ruin your day. He was also pleasantly surprised to find the diamond was only cool to the touch instead of ice-cold as one would expect from a night that lasted seventy-two hours—likely the fault of Stelearos’ sun.

Across the deep chasm—past the rolling hills and fields that stretched out bellow him for a good couple miles—sat a mountain range. It stretched far off into the distance to either side of him, some of the mountains standing so tall they would make the Greater Himalayas look like foothills. Rick gulped as he looked at it, just now starting to really appreciate why the old monk on Garniel 6 had been trembling when describing the Dranulus to him.

He took a deep, steadying breath. _Focus._ He needed to focus.

Now: The Greeting. Closing his eyes, he schooled his face into a neutral expression then sat down on his haunches, hands on his knees. After a moment, he bent forward, hands on the ground, until his head was touching the moon’s surface. Usually he wouldn’t give a damn about customs—not if he could get what he wanted without going through them (and even then he usually just said fuck it and portaled or blasted his way through anyway). But every story and legend he had heard and read all said the same thing: if you do not do The Greeting, and properly—thereby showing it the proper respect—the Dranulus would not appear. _Pompous bastard,_ he thought.   

After a few seconds of prostrating himself—and trying not to roll his eyes at how ridiculous all of this was—he said the words that he had painstakingly practiced until he had the pronunciation _just_ right: “A’rviti Dranulus, Viale Unirr Dii’Tuin Suno, Tyeis Dii’sdae Ari’ik ki Jaedor Dii’sdae Ju—ji’nsdaeh noe’er agri une terr: arvae idule nellti’ir siech Viale Naey Oro.” _Oh Holy Dranulus, Great Lord of the Diamond Moon, Knower of All Things and Seer of All Truth—I bow before you and offer this humble plea: lend me your guidance so I may see by the light of the Great Blue Sun._

For what felt like an eternity, his words were met with nothing but silence. His body soon began to ach and tremble from being in the same position for so long. He could feel one of his legs trying to cramp. Sweat beaded on his brow and neck from the slowly-rising heat and ran down his nape and forehead. A part of him idly thought he was damn lucky this moon orbited the planet furthest from this solar system’s sun, or he would have been roasted by now. The other part was slowly being consumed by anxiety. He clenched his teeth and curled his hands into fists, his heart sinking further and further as time ticked by. Fuck. He hadn’t messed up had he? _Oh Sweet Jesus, tell me I didn’t fucking mess this up!_

He was just starting to wonder if his decision to take his ship to the moon instead of riding a Naril counted as enough disrespect that the Dranulus wouldn’t appear, when the ground began to shake violently. Rick cursed as he was thrown to the side. Clutching his head, he pushed himself up to his hands and knees doing his best to steady himself against the shaking earth, and watched the sight before him with wary eyes.

The mountain range started to _lift_ itself off the ground, starting with the mountains off to his left. Countless huge chunks of shining diamond—some as large as skyscrapers—broke off them and crashed into the ground bellow. The sound they made as they detached themselves from the moon’s surface and rose steadily into the air was like that of multiple landslides happening at once. It quickly became so loud he shoved his palms into his ears and leaned forward, eyes squeezed shut as though that would help shut the noises out. Even then they were still loud enough to make him clench his teeth until his jaw ached.

Finally the ground stopped shaking and the sounds faded with just a few final crashes here and there, then silence. No, not silence—the sounds of crashing, grinding rock and rumbling earth had just been replaced with the comparably quieter but still unsettling sound of a really, _really_ large creature breathing. Rick sat back onto his haunches, opened his eyes and pulled his hands away from his ears—and stared numbly at the thing before him.  

It was, in a word, _massive_. At this distance he could see its two front limbs folded before it, clawed hands resting atop each other, so big they were level with the cliff he sat on. These were connected to an equally massive chest and shoulders which in turn connected to an equally massive neck, and finally an equally massive head. Its neck rose so high into the air its head blocked the sun, and he had to crane his neck even from this far away just to make out the bottom of its lower jaw. After a moment, with more sounds of grinding rock and rumbling earth, it slowly turned its head downward then bent its neck down and forward before turning its head to the side until his vision was completely engulfed by the single, solid-black eye that was now level with his body.

Despite the fact that Rick honestly hated using clichés—seeing them as the result of laziness and a lack of creativity—in this case he could really only describe the thing’s gaze as _unfathomable_. It wasn’t the solid black of ink on paper, or that of the empty parts of space not broken up by the occasional star or planet. It wasn’t even the emptiness of a massive back hole moving silently throw space as it devoured even the largest, brightest stars and planets. No—this was the absolute, disturbing blackness of complete and utter nothingness; that which he imagined had existed before the universe; before darkness and light and planets and stars. Thinking that, he wondered if the eye wasn’t actually black so much as just _looked_ that way, as that was the closest his mind could get to visually interpreting the physical incarnation of _nothing_.

**_Rick Sanchez of dimension C-137. You dare to step foot on this sacred place?_ **

Rick jerked at the voice—or, more accurately, _voices_. It was as though there were hundreds of voices—all felt more than heard—speaking in perfect unison. The words echoed and thrummed through his entire being in a language that was like nothing he had ever heard or spoken, yet he could perfectly understand. And every word commanded such respect and obedience he found himself fighting a sudden urge to bow down to the thing again, this time in actual worship. He ground his teeth refusing to give in, and did his best to ignore the way his heart was hammering almost painfully in his chest.

Never had he heard anything or anyone besides Morty or another Rick state his dimension code. He gulped again. Well shit. Looks like that was one claim proven fact: scriptures stated that this Dranulus—as its titles suggested—literally knew and saw _all_. He had thought that just meant within this reality, but it appeared this Dranulus could see even into other realities, and knew that he wasn’t from this one.

_Almost like some kind of god._

_Don’t think about it._

He held up his hands in surrender, and, putting as much strength and confidence in his voice as he could, said, “Look, I-I know you don’t want me here—”

 ** _SILENCE!_** Rick felt himself physically flinch at the pure, undiluted hatred lacing that single command and involuntarily shut his mouth with a click of his teeth. **_You are a parasite, defiling every place and being you come across, feeding off of them until you have taken all that they have and all that they are before moving on to your next meal. Wherever you go you leave nothing but destruction and corpses in your wake—even children are not spared! This is a holy place for those who seek healing, wisdom, enlightenment and safe passage for themselves and their loved ones to the next life. It is not for a_ demon _such as you!_**

**_But you already know that, don’t you?_ **

With each word it spoke, memories of all the civilizations and people he had ruined and destroyed, hurt and killed, flashed across his mind’s eye almost too fast to follow. The screams and blood and fire and the smell of burning and rotting flesh and death blended together until he felt like he would crack under the sensory strain. Then with that final sentence—spoken in a too-soft, too-gentle croon that made him shudder violently as a chill ran down his spine—all the memories were abruptly shoved aside save for one...

 

_The portal gun had, of course, been smashed when they got caught trying to mine the planet’s core, so now they were running as fast as they could back to the ship. Countless Syr swarmed in the sky to the point of blocking out the dull, red sun, and flew after them. They shot any that came too close with the plasma guns Rick had thankfully thought to bring along. It was all they could do not to get overtaken and torn apart._

_When they were just a few yards away from the ship, Rick heard Morty cry out behind him. He stopped and whipped around to see that one of the Syr had swooped down and attacked Morty before he could shoot it. His gun had been knocked out of his hand and skidded away. He screamed in pain as the Syr held him down, its sharp claws digging into his sides and back leaving deep gashes, and sunk its sharp teeth deep into his shoulder. Just as it wound its long, thin tail tightly around his neck, Rick blasted it through the head._

_“Morty!” He cried as he rushed over and knelt beside him, shooting a couple more Syr that came too close._

_“R-r-rick…” Morty whimpered, blood running out of his multiple wounds._

_Rick shot several more Syr that swooped down before putting away his gun, then scooped Morty into his arms—shushing him when the young boy let out an agonized cry—and barreled toward the ship. He yanked the door open then threw himself in, slamming the door closed just in time for a Syr to slam into it hard enough to rock the ship. Heart thundering in his chest, he set Morty onto the backseat as gently as he could, unconsciously stroking his hair and saying “I-it’s okay, Morty—y-you’re gonna be okay! Grandpa’s here.” Rick shook as he saw the extent of the damage the Syr had inflicted. Not only were there the wounds from its claws and teeth, but there were little punctures in Morty’s neck from the thing’s barbed tailed. Morty was panting and gasping, his face alarmingly pale, and a light sheen of sweat covered his skin. His eyes were squeezed shut, tears running down his face and neck, mixing with the blood on his neck and collar._

_The thing that really made Rick curse inwardly and want to kill every last Syr in existence, however, was his shoulder wound. The bastard hadn’t just bitten him—it had taken a chunk the size of Rick’s fist out of him. Through the blood gushing out of the wound, he could make out muscle tissue and bone. On top of that, the wound was slowly growing in size as the skin around it bubbled slightly, like water when it just starts to boil, before disintegrating. Rick’s shaking increased at the sight as anger and fear twisted in his gut. The Syr must have had some kind of acidic poison in their saliva, and it was eating away at his grandson._ FUCK. _Nothing he had in the ship was enough to treat that, especially not if any of the acid had gotten in his blood, which was pretty damn likely considering most of his shoulder was fucking_ missing _. Rick needed to get him to a hospital—_ now _._

_Taking off his lab coat, he emptied all its pockets then wadded it up and pressed it to Morty’s shoulder wound to try and stem the bleeding. He then grabbed the surgical tape that had fallen out of his coat, and wound it around his shoulder as tightly as he could. Hopefully that would keep the lab coat in place until he got him to a hospital. Next, he took off his shirt and tore it into strips which he tightly wound around the rest of his wounds, shushing him idly whenever Morty let out a pained sound. Just as he finished, the ship shook enough to make him stumble, and Rick looked up to see it was surrounded by Syr that were slamming into it, biting and clawing. He was thankful whatever crap was in their saliva could not apparently burn through glass or metal. Snarling at the fuckers, teeth clenched and eyes wild with rage, he jumped into the driver seat and started the ship._

_As the engine sputtered to life, Rick let out a string of the worst curses he could think of as he imagined all the ways he was going to kill that motherfucking nagrulite for selling him a faulty weapon. Piece of shit had jammed after just two shots. “Bastard better be ready to meet his ma-UEGH-ker after selling me that-that fucking piece of sh-shit so-called ‘ultimate weapon’!_ FUCK! _”_

_Rick stomped on the gas pedal and yanked back on the wheel hard enough to make his arms twinge. The ship shot upward, the Syr hot on their tail. They caught up quickly and were soon swarming all over the ship again, clawing at and pounding on the glass and hull._

_“Fuck, fuck, FUCK! Ship: activate lightning shield!”_

_A female voice from overhead said, “_ Activating _,” and the Syr surrounding them let out high-pitched, inhuman screeches as every last one on the ship was shot with over ten-thousand volts of electricity. The electricity expanded outward for several yards until it created a sort of electric bubble around the ship. Every Syr not killed by the shield circled them, snarling and screeching but unwilling to get close enough to die like their brethren that fell lifelessly back to the ground. Finally, the ship got too high into the atmosphere for them to continue to follow and the bastards stopped pursuing them._

_Rick let out a sigh of relief and deactivated the lightning shield as he watched them fly back down. His relief was short-lived, however, when he looked over at Morty. Already his lab coat was soaked crimson, as were the clothe strips. Morty’s breathing was already much fainter and slower than before, and seemed to grow more so with every second. Rick could barely even hear it anymore._

_Shitshit_ shit! _Rick slammed his foot on the gas pedal again. Even with the dark matter fuel it took him almost an hour to get to the nearest hospital, and five minutes to run Morty inside and get him admitted for emergency care. All the while his breathing continued to grow frighteningly fainter and his eyes lost more and more of their life as that_ fucking _shoulder wound—now so large it was eating away at his chin and elbow—grew ever bigger._

_They had the best doctors work on him; used the latest, most advanced technology and medicine—and yet…_

 

Rick gritted his teeth and dug his fingernails into his palms so hard they broke the skin. Blinking back tears and swallowing the sob building in his throat, he used every ounce of willpower he had to force the memory away before it finished. He couldn’t, _wouldn’t_ watch that again. He _refused_ to relive that last terrible moment where he watched the life leave that single, brown eye. Rick had seen death before—many, _many_ times before—but it had been different that time. He hadn’t _cared_ about the others. Not like this. Yet even as he tried to block it out, parts of the memory bled into his mind.

It had been both slow and fast, adrenaline making that single second between life and death feel like a horrific eternity as a terrible emptiness formed in his chest, stealing his lungs and whatever was left of his heart. He was the smartest man in the universe, yet it had felt like forever before his mind was able to comprehend the scene before him. When it had, he had not raged or screamed or lashed out. Instead, he had just…shutdown until he was completely numb—all save for the bottomless pit in his chest that hurt so much more than any other wound he had ever sustained.

Morty was…Morty _was_ …

He remembered collapsing onto his knees, arms falling limply to his sides. Remembered staring at that eye as everything around him had seemed to fade until he was alone in a dark, muted world that had been set on fast-forward while he had been set to slow-motion. Remembered the bitter regret he had felt that he had not even been able to bring himself to just say _goodbye_ before it was too late.

As grief and regret took hold of him again, fat, hot tears made their way unbidden down his cheeks. Rick flinched at the feeling. He was Rick Sanchez, the smartest man in the universe if not the entire multiverse. He had done and seen almost every terrible, unspeakable thing under any conceivable sun, and had lost more friends than he would ever admit to himself, including one of his utmost closest friends: Bird Person. He did. Not. _Cry_.

Not where others could see. Not where they could dare to judge, or try futilely to understand. Not even when Bird Person’s lifeless body fell to the ground with a resounding thud that still haunts him even now, had he cried until the Federation had been dealt with and he was alone.

Not even when Morty had lain on that white hospital bed that had quickly become stained a dark crimson—the many monitors hooked up to him all giving off that same flat, grating tone—had he cried until he was alone in the ship.

And yet, here and now—sitting before a massive, god-like creature on a moon galaxies away from that hospital, and weeks away from that moment—he could not stop the bitter, angry tears from falling as he cried in earnest. A ragged, animalistic scream that rivaled the one he had let out in the ship that day tore its way out of his throat as he dug his nails into his scalp. Morty—oh _God, Morty!_  

Rick had tried so hard—always acting cold or neutral, insulting and mocking him, keeping him at arm’s length all in an effort to pretend he didn’t care. But on the inside, there were these ever-present feelings of protectiveness and worry and guilt that only grew with each adventure. He had tried to stay unattached. He had tried to remind himself time and again that in a multiverse where every universe was a soulless creature that devoured every life unlucky enough to be born within it, things like love and attachment didn’t matter; led only to misery and despair in the end. But when it came to Morty he had failed miserably. What had started out as just a general need for a sidekick to help him get what he wanted soon turned to fondness. And before he knew it, that fondness had morphed into feelings of attachment and affection—and, dare he say, _love_ —and he had found himself doing all he could to protect Morty on their adventures—even though it was usually his fault the kid was in danger in the first place.

But that wasn’t the end of it. Their interactions at home and the adventures themselves had changed as a result. He had found himself hanging out with him at home, introducing him to interdimensional cable and playing stupid games with him, or taking him out for ice-cream. He hadn’t hesitated to erase his bad memories so he would smile again (especially the ones that were Rick’s fault), and it had soon become routine that every few adventures was less a “classic adventure” so much as an excuse to hang out: going to a dimension where they actually made _Ball Fondlers: the Movie_ ; taking him to Blitz and Chitz for an entire day; taking him to the most beautiful places in the universe to have picnics and take hikes.

And with every adventure where they were in peril—where Morty came away with a new scar and a new bad memory to erase—Rick had found himself thinking: _I need to stop doing this—I need to stop taking him to these places—if I don’t he’ll keep getting hurt—if I don’t he’ll_ die! But, though it went against everything he believed in to say it, he couldn’t stop because he _needed_ Morty. Not just as a shield from the Federation or the Citadel, but as a companion; as a friend; as the only person that had made him hesitate before taking a sip from his flask or snorting KLax up his nose; as the only one who had made him start viewing the multiverse with wonder again instead of a feeling of numbness, boredom, or resentment.

And like he knew it would, his attachment to Morty had only led to misery. Because—just as much as he couldn’t help taking Morty with him on every adventure—he couldn’t help but to keep doing the things, and going on the kinds of adventures, that always seemed to end in gunfire and blood and a desperate sprint to the ship or jump through a portal. Because he was selfish. He had no trouble saying it; it was a trait inherent in pretty much all Ricks, along with the refusal to accept no for an answer. What Ricks want they take, and fuck the consequences—because in the end, the only thing that matters is themselves.

At least, that’s what he had told himself every time he had inwardly panicked whenever Morty got hurt or they got separated—every time he had felt his chest grow lighter when the little shit smiled at him or laughed at one of his admittedly stupid jokes. His efforts at lying to himself had been embarrassingly transparent and feeble. He had often wondered if other Ricks felt like this about their Mortys—though he would shoot himself before he asked any of them.

Memories were flashing across his mind again. They started happy: every time Rick made Morty laugh or smile; every time his eyes lit up with joy or excitement or wonder; every time he genuinely had fun on an adventure that didn’t end badly; every time he stood up to Rick, refusing to set aside his personal morals for any reason. Rick would never admit it, but while he had found those moments annoying at the time, he had also felt a swell of pride at his grandson, his lips twitching at the fierce defiance and determination in those brown eyes of his.

Then the memories changed, and now he was seeing every time Morty broke down; every time he did set aside his morals and let his anger or grief take control; every time he begged to have a painful memory removed because he couldn’t sleep or go on adventures without nightmares or flashbacks; every time he sobbed pitifully over a new wound, or traced a finger over a new scar; every time his eyes dulled or filled with disappointment or contempt as he looked at Rick after he had ruined yet another thing for his grandson.

Rick’s chest tightened painfully at the memories. He knew Morty had been becoming more and more disillusioned with him, as well as like him—another reason he tried to limit what kinds of adventures he took him on, and the main reason he gave in and wiped every memory Morty begged him to, and many he didn’t. He couldn’t bear the idea of Morty hating or resenting him; couldn’t bear watching him turn into a copy of himself: selfish, cold, careless, ruthless, doing anything he could to numb himself so he wouldn’t have to face the every-growing number of demons taking up space in the darkest parts of his mind. He had always felt such intense relief whenever Morty looked at him after getting his memory wiped—his eyes bright and relatively innocent, and his face free of pain and anger and misery.

Such a far cry from how he had looked at the hospital that day…

_My fault; all my fault. I should have listened._

There had been so many warnings and rumors of angry spirits and demons surrounding the planet—a result of the fact that no one had gone there and come back alive. Rick had rolled his eyes at the claims and ignored the warnings. Morty, on the other hand, had been afraid the entire time they were there. He had kept saying he could see and hear things in the dark, and asked Rick if he was sure there were no such things as ghosts. Rick had scoffed and confirmed that no, there was no such things as ghosts. The planet had been abandoned several centuries ago after a nuclear war between the two dominant races living there had left it barren and basically uninhabitable. People never came back from there either because they were idiots or because they managed to mine the core and got rich like they were about to, and so saw no reason to return to their originally pitiful lives. Or so he had thought. He had never considered that the Syr—one of the two waring races—had not left, but had instead gone underground after the war. And so the now mutated, animalistic race had appeared in all their ugly, foul  glory the moment they had started drilling for antimatter.      

 _I should have listened._ The memories of Morty being attacked and then lying on that bloodstained bed started replaying over and over in his mind in a gory cycle. He squeezed his eyes shut in a childish, futile effort to block them out.

_Why? Why didn’t I listen!?_

**_I think you know the answer to that, Rick Sanchez of Dimension C-137._ **

The beast’s voice snapped him out of his thoughts. The memories vanished like so much smoke as his eyes flew open and he looked sharply back into its eye, staring at it with a vulnerability he hadn’t shown _anyone_. He knew his heart was on display for the enormous thing before him, every last one of his carefully crafted and maintained walls utterly destroyed, leaving him stripped of all defenses against its prying eye. It wasn’t like before, when it had known those things because it saw through those barriers. Now there was nothing but his heart and soul laid bare for all the universe to see. He wanted so badly to rebuild those walls and shut himself off again, but he couldn’t. Not only had his emotions been scraped raw by the memories he had been forced to relive, but where before the voice had been so cold and filled with such contempt, it was now also so _soft_ , so _gentle_ , and was filled with such… _understanding—_ he had not the will to fight the Dranulus as it stared him down in his exposed state.

Where even his Morty had failed, this Dranulus—this huge, ancient, _thing_ as cold as the diamond it was made of—had managed to do what no other being in any dimension had ever done: it had made him open himself up, completely and utterly.

The thought filled him with white-hot rage.

 _How_ dare _it!_

He was _Rick-fucking-Sanchez_! _He_ was the master of his fate and the god of his universe! _He_ decided who he showed himself to, and how much they got to see!

And if there was anyone who got to see him this way it was _Morty!_ Not this arrogant, self-righteous _fuck!_

**_And yet you kneel here before me, Mortyless. Alone. Expo—_ **

Rick _snarled_ , cutting off the Dranulus with a sound that was chillingly animalistic even to his ears. The rage building inside him turned as cold as the vacuum of space. Shaking from the intensity of it, he rose to his feet and stared the Dranulus down, baring his teeth and digging his nails into his palms until fresh blood flowed.

Voice dangerously soft, he said, “I-I fucking know that—you-you think I _don’t?_ Y-you think I don’t know it’s _my_ fault he- _my_ fault Morty is…is…” he paused momentarily then pointed a bloody finger at it and screamed, “ _I KNOW FULL WELL WHAT I AM YOU-YOU SH-SHINING PIECE OF SHIT!_ ”

The Dranulus looked completely unmoved. **_Then are you here for salvation? Have you come to repent and turn away from the dark path you have chosen to instead walk in the light?_**

“Y-you know everything, don’t you? Then-then you know I’m not here for that!”

 ** _You are correct. However_** , it added its voice suddenly seething with a rage so cold it make Rick’s look like soft candlelight, **_I want you to SAY it, to admit why a demon such as you dare to set foot on this sacred place! You say you are not here for salvation, but that is a lie—don’t try to deny it! You care about your grandson, more than you were ever willing to admit even to yourself! You came here seeking atonement for what you did to him—otherwise you would not have bothered to come, and most certainly not after researching and practicing The Greeting as you did! You could not save him then, so you are trying to save him now!_**

**_I want you to say, out loud for all the universe to hear, how you burned that Morty coupon before coming here. How even though the Citadel is no longer set up to use it after being left in ruins, you could not bear even the thought of having it! For it only served as a reminder of how little you made him believe he meant to you!_ **

Rick seethed, grinding his teeth and continuing to stare the thing down. He was panting harshly through his clenched teeth, body shaking with rage, hatred and self-loathing. He wanted to curse this arrogant fucker out—to scream and rage and spit in its face. For a moment, he even considered retrieving the special little bomb in his coat pocket and turning this piece of shit and its moon into a black hole. That would teach it not to mess with _Rick-fucking-Sanchez!_ But he didn’t, because he knew, deep down that it spoke the truth, and because…he turned and looked back at the ship out of the corner of his eye. The rolled up blankets were just barely visible through the back window from this distance.

…Because Morty needed him. If there was ever a time to set aside his pride, it was now.

But it was so hard to say.    

He growled in frustration. He hadn’t realized—or in truth, hadn’t allowed himself to admit—that he had fallen for the lie that was denial. That while he knew the truth he had kept unconsciously thinking that Morty was just sleeping—that the medicine the doctors had given him would ware off soon, and he’d wake up and they would go on adventures again…but that was a lie. Morty wasn’t going to wake up because… _because_ …

He was shaking even harder now as tears continued to run down his face. His nose had become clogged with snot, and his chest was painfully tight. He could feel the thing brushing his naked mind with its own; could feel it wrapping him up in that cold, rage-filled, contemptuous— _soft, gentle, understanding_ —consciousness. Could see, as though he was physically there again, that last moment where Morty looked at him and reached out with a trembling, skinless hand, jaw working as though trying to speak despite no longer having a tongue to speak with. Could see his hand fall limp as he let out a soft, shuddering breath…

…and did not breathe again.

And just like that, Rick broke.

With another ragged cry, Rick spun back around to face the Dranulus and yelled, “ _FINE!_ Y-y-you want me to say-to admit it? I _burned_ that mo-EUGH-ther-fucking coupon! I-I fucking _shredded_ it first because I _hated_ how Morty reacted when-when he saw I had taken it! Because I-I-I hated how angry he-how much it hurt him to see me with it! Y-you wanna know why? Because I-cause that little bastard made me _give a shit_! _There—I fucking said it!_ I _did_ — _do_ —care about that stu-UEGH-stupid little dipshit, and I hated that _fucking_ coupon cause it made it look like I didn’t! But I _d-did_ —I-I-I—I _loved_ _him dammit!_

“ _AND HE LEFT ME!_ ” Rick sucked in a sharp breath and paused for a second as his own words echoed in his ears. Then he let out a grief-stricken wail as he fell to his knees, wrapping his arms around himself and unconsciously rocking back and forth as fresh tears ran down his face and neck. _Fuck_ it hurt so much more to say the words out loud. Something about doing so made it so much more real—made it so he had to let go of the last speck of denial he was unconsciously still holding on to, and admit that Morty was well and truly gone. And there really was nothing he could do to bring him back.

Bile rise in his throat as his chest tightened painfully and his stomach twisted horribly at the thought. He didn’t know if he could do this without killing himself. It was too much.

And yet, he felt the Dranulus compelling him to keep going, its consciousness firm but surprisingly gentle as it pushed him to say everything he had kept locked away ever since he had watched his grandson take his last breath. He still didn’t have the energy to fight it, and so, voice shaking, he continued: “He-he fucking up and-and left me here, _alone_! I-it was supposed to just be us—just us—just Rick and Morty forever and forever a thousand years, Rick and Morty! And then that-that little bastard—that fucking little _shit_ —after worming his way into my-my heart like a fucking parasite, he fucking _left me_!”

Practically gasping for air now, he slowly and with great effort unwrapped his arms from around himself, and looked down at his bloody, shaking palms, almost completely obscured by his tears. His entire body was shaking, so much he thought he would shatter—not from uncontrollable rage as before, but with a grief so terrible he could not believe he was still alive; was starting wish he wasn’t. And still he continued, propelled forward by the Dranulus, his voice nearly a whisper now as his misery did its best to choke him: “H-he fucking left me. I-I can make black holes with the press of a button—c-can create entire universes with my bare hands—but-but when Morty…when Morty needed me the most, I-I couldn’t help him. I-I-I…I couldn’t…I couldn’t _save_ him…

“But _you_ can!” He slowly curled his hands into fists. He hated that he couldn’t help the desperate, pleading tone in his voice—couldn’t help how wide and wild his eyes were, and how crazed and pathetic he knew he looked as he raised his tear-streaked face to stare into the beast’s eye once again.

“ _You can!_ ”

The Dranulus’ consciousness was still wrapped around his mind, pushing him forward still. That, combined with how unmoved the thing appeared, made a spark of anger flicker back to life inside his chest. It mixed with the grief and desperation within him, twisting his stomach in painful knots. Brow furrowed, his lips twisting into a snarl, he pushed himself to his feet. He was shaking even more now if that were possible, this time with renewed rage as well grief.

“Y-you wanna know why-why I came here?” he spat. “ _That’s_ why! I-I came here for salvation alright—but not for me! For _Morty!_ Because apparently y-you can do that! And while I kn-UEGH-ow I’m going _straight_ to Hell if it exists, I-I’m not taking the chance that Morty will be coming with me! So why don’t y-you get off your fu-UEGH-cking high-horse, stop playing these-these _fucking_ mind games, and do your _GODDAMN JOB!_ ”

There was a moment of silence—save for the beast’s steady breathing and Rick’s harsh panting—as they stared each other down again.

Then: **_Well done, Rick Sanchez of dimension C-137._**

Rick jerked at its voice again, but this time it was because all the hatred and rage and contempt that had once filled it had been completely replaced with that soft, gentle understanding—as well as a tone of smug satisfaction. But it wasn’t condescending as he would have expected. Instead, it was…prideful almost, as though the thing was a parent who’s child had accomplished some great feat that it knew he could if only he put his mind to it. The complete and sudden change threw the scientist off guard to the point where his anger completely dissipated, and he almost missed the portal opening.

The sound of crunching, shifting stone behind him made him turn around, and his eyes widened as he watched the portal form. Various-sized chunks of diamond broke off of the moon’s surface and rolled across the ground to a point a couple yards away from the ship. There they started stacking atop each other until they created a rounded archway. The moment the last diamond chunk slotted itself into place, the portal flashed alive with glorious light. It wasn’t the harsh, neon-green of the portal fluid he used. Instead, the light was a multitude of soft purples, pinks, and whites—all glowing softly, and pulsing gently and steadily almost like the portal was breathing instead of swirling quickly as his portals did. He thought he could almost hear quiet sounds coming from within it just on the edge of his hearing. Though he couldn’t quite make them out, they reminded him of delighted laughter, soft music, water lapping rhythmically against a shore, and similar things.

The light, the sounds, the gentle, pulsing rhythm—all of it drew Rick toward it, promising him safety and rest. Yet he could not bring himself to go toward it. Feeling suddenly uncertain and hesitant, he found himself looking back to the Dranulus for reassurance. The beast simply brushed its mind against his again; a soft caress that calmed his pounding heart and quieted his breathing as warmth spread throughout his body. A small smile graced his lips at the touch.

He felt he should be angry and affronted as he had been before; like he should still be doing all he could to build those walls back up while cursing the thing out for its audacity to open him up like this and treat him like a child after everything it had just forced from him. But the anger did not come. Instead, he closed his eyes and allowed it to sooth him and ease the pain of the hole in his heart just enough he could breathe properly again. Fresh tears—ones of gratefulness instead of grief this time—made their way down his cheeks, and for the first time since Morty had died he did not feel so alone, or abandoned.

After a moment, the Dranulus slowly retreated from his mind. It gave him one last, gentle caress which he could only describe as the psychic equivalent of a kiss on the forehead before it withdrew completely. Rick’s eyes blinked open and he looked at the enormous, ancient creature, that small smile still gracing his lips. He felt so…peaceful, despite the still ever-present hole in his chest. He felt strong. Not like he had before—he doubted he would feel that strong again, not for a very long while at least—but like he now had the strength to finish what he had started, and to move on and start healing after all was said and done.

He took a deep breath then turned and walked back to the ship. He paused a moment after he opened the door, chest aching, jaw clenching, fresh tears pooling in his eyes at the sight of his grandson’s body wrapped in the blankets like a shroud. Then he shook himself mentally and picked the bundle up, cradling it close to his chest. He would have time to mourn properly after he had taken care of his grandson. Right now he had work to do.

Just as he reached the portal, he felt a soft brush of the Dranulus’ consciousness on his own like the mental version of someone grasping his wrist and asking him to wait. Rick was anxious to finish this so his grandson would be safe— _finally, truly_ , safe—yet he found himself pausing at the touch and waiting to hear what it had to say, though he did not turn around to face it.

**_You claim that you when you die, you will go to Hell no matter what. That is a lie. You can still be saved, Rick Sanchez of Dimension C-137. What you have done and said here today is proof of that._ **

**_You have walked a path of destruction and death, with no light to guide you and no promise of rest at the end, for many years. But you have, time and again, left that path for small moments—not least of which when you faced me just now in order to save your grandson. You can still find the path to salvation and eternal rest. Even now, you stand in the light. All you need do is turn away from that dark path as you have done before, and this time choose to stay in the light. It is not so impossible a feat as you think it is._ **

Rick laughed humorlessly. “Y-you think so?” He shook his head. “No. After everything I’ve done over the years…I-I’m as damned as they come. But at least I-I can do this one good thing before I finally croak.”

**_Say what you will, Rick Sanchez of Dimension C-137. I have Faith that I will see you in Paradise one day._ **

“ _Hmph_. Yeah-yeah, not gonna happen—but i-it’s a nice fantasy all the same.” Despite his words, Rick could not help the small, grateful smile on his face or the budding of hope in his chest as he stepped through the portal.


End file.
